


Dean Winchester, Disney Princess

by violue



Series: Carnival Oasis [9]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anal Sex, M/M, Tulips, pervert raccoons, voyeurism sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-06
Updated: 2018-12-06
Packaged: 2019-09-12 14:35:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16874706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/violue/pseuds/violue
Summary: Repairs to the house are slow going, but at least Dean is making new friends.





	Dean Winchester, Disney Princess

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd by the elite Beta Squad... which is the name for my group DM with Lydie and Kris on Twitter. All mistakes are theirs. I mean mine.

Dean always thought of himself as in shape. He doesn’t hit the gym or go on semi-daily runs like Sam, but hunting can burn quite a lot of calories, with the digging graves and the fleeing from monsters and the wandering the woods in search of whatever beast he’s hunting that week. So, yeah, Dean thought of himself as in shape.

The walk to the new house dragged that notion out to the woodshed, and three hours of hacking at brambles with his machete shot that notion to death.

He lies on the forest floor, sweating, dirty, and cursing himself for ever leaving Sam’s basement. Dirt and pine needles are clinging to every part of him, and he’s cold but overheated at the same time.

“Do you have any other secret houses?” Dean says loudly. “Maybe ones closer and less in need of upkeep?”

Castiel kneels next to Dean, smiling. He’s still in some clothes he borrowed from Dean, which should make him look more ordinary, but of course it doesn’t. “I have a few other homes. They’re all older than this one, and considerably farther away from California.”

Dean props himself up on his elbows. Now that he’s not moving around, the chill in the air is starting to settle on him. “Really? Where?”

“Other forests. Alaska, Ireland, Brazil, Australia…” Castiel gets a distant look on his face. “Goodness, the house in Ireland must be four hundred years old by now, I doubt that one is still there.”

“You’ve really been around, huh?”

“I have.”

“Well, those places all do sound… far.”

“They are.”

“And we _are_ already here.”

“This is the most advanced of all my homes, truly our best option, I assure you.”

“But I’m _tired,_ and this is _hard,”_ Dean whines, flopping back onto the ground.

“It is. My poor, fragile human,” Castiel’s gentle smile has shifted into something more amused.

“Dick. Maybe I’ll just stay here and let you do all the work. Look at you, you’re not even sweating.”

“Sure I am,” Castiel says, gesturing to the laughably thin beads of sweat along his hairline.

Obnoxious celestial stamina. “I think I hate you.”

“My arms are getting a bit tired, too.”

“Oh, they’re getting a _bit_ tired, huh? I’m coated in sweat and my muscles have stopped cooperating with me at all.”

“You could confess, I’ll heal us both.”

Dean recoils. Or he would if he felt like moving. “No way, I earned this.”

“You… earned it?”

“I worked hard for this exhaustion.”

Castiel’s eyes squint in confusion. God, he’s adorable. “So you don’t want to be sore, but you don’t want me to make it go away?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s a… point of pride?”

“Yeah, that.”

“Odd.”

“Well you must’ve gotten tired out building this yourself way back when, didn’t it leave you with that happy ache-y feeling of a job well done?”

Castiel closes his eyes as he often does when he’s trying to paw through eons of memories. “I recall being sore and tired, as there were no sins to feed on to rejuvenate me, and I recall pride in the work I’d done… however I don’t recall the soreness and the pride being linked.”

“Maybe it’s a human thing.”

“Perhaps it is a Dean Winchester thing.”

“Maybe both.”

Dean remains sprawled on the ground as Castiel resumes slashing through a fairly ridiculous amount of weeds and brambles. Seriously, this place looks like it was put under a witch’s curse… but like, a fairytale witch. Dean hasn’t even been in the house yet. Not that he’s in a rush, but he is curious. Castiel hasn’t made a move to open the dusty and weathered oak door, though, so Dean hasn’t either.

It’s so messy and dead out here, but Dean can already see the potential; the damp, pine needle covered clearing around the house replaced with a lush green lawn full of tulips, the beige, beaten porch repaired and painted, the simple front door varnished, cracked and filthy windows replaced.

Dean closes his eyes, smiling.

It’s going to be a beautiful nest.

  
  


*

  
  


Dean wakes stiff, chilled, and… cuddling a wild rabbit.

Okay, this is new. The rabbit wakes as Dean stirs, and for a moment they stare at each other before it wriggles out of his arms to hop a few feet away. It looks at Dean for a few more moments, then bounds off into the forest.

_What_ _._

The light is softer, dimmer, so it’s got to be late afternoon. It’s quiet, save for the sound of some fabric shifting. When Dean turns his head to the side, he sees Castiel is putting up the tent they brought. It’s fairly small, a one-person tent that Jess hadn’t used in years.

“I take it we’re not bedding down in the house tonight?”

Castiel pauses before pushing a tent stake into the ground. “It’s haunted.”

Dean scrambles to his feet. “What?!”

“My house. It’s haunted.”

“Was it before?”

“Of course not,” Castiel says. He’s finished setting up the tent, and is now digging through his comically large hiking pack. “I apologize for not noticing sooner, the spirit was all but inactive until I opened the front door.”

Dean glances at the house. “Someone died all the way out here?”

“I found human remains in the living room. I thought we’d deal with it after a rest.” Castiel pulls a bag of rock salt out of his pack and begins making a circle around the tent. “The corpse has been there well over a decade, maybe even two.” He sighs. “I would understand if this… sullies the home for you.”

“Nah.”

Castiel looks a little surprised. “Nah?”

“I’m attached. It might take a little longer to make this place _home,_ but it’ll be worth it, I know it. I’ve got time.”

A single red tulip grows between them. Castiel is beaming. “You’re sure?”

Dean shrugs, grinning. “I’m a hunter, Cas. Can’t think of a more fitting way to christen a new home than to cleanse it of a spirit.”

  
  


*

  
  


This time Dean wakes warm, slowly, as he often does in Castiel’s immediate presence. Castiel and his wings are wrapped around him from behind; it’s impressive how much they’ve managed to cram into this tent. Dean gives one wing several hard flicks with his finger until the wings and Castiel’s arms release him.

“Don’t urinate near the tent,” Castiel mutters.

“I’ve got _manners,_ Cas,” Dean says, unzipping the tent.

He crawls through the small doorway and finds himself staring slack-jawed.

Outside of the ring of salt, there are animals. Quite a few, in fact. A couple of deer, four raccoons, three rabbits, a whole mess of mice. Some are asleep, some are watching him.

“What the _fuck_.”

Castiel crawls out of the tent, sans wings. “Quite a crowd,” he mutters sleepily.

“What the hell _is_ this?”

“Animals like me. Happens sometimes, especially in secluded areas like this.”

“Is that why I woke up cuddling a fucking rabbit earlier?”

“You looked enchanting, I took a photo with your phone.”

“I’m gonna get fuckin’ rabies out here, aren’t I.”

Castiel regards the animals for a moment. “They are safe.”

“Yeah, okay Dr. Dolittle, well tell your pals not to follow me if they don’t want to get pissed on.”

“Charming.”

  
  


*

  
  


One of the raccoons does in fact follow Dean, but he decides to be gracious and _not_ pee on it.

  
  


*

  
  


Their first task of the day is to build a pyre for the corpse in Castiel’s living room. Dean clears away dry brush and uses water from a nearby stream to get the ground damp and less flammable. They’re supposed to have electricity and running water up here at the house, through a process that sounded an _awful_ lot like witchcraft, but apparently some things in the system need repairing first. They need new pipes or chicken feet or a virgin sacrifice; Dean wasn’t really listening because a fox was flapping its tail at him, but Castiel said all that can wait.

It’s _real_ fucking weird having the various denizens of the forest around. They don’t help clean or any shit like that, apparently Dean’s life hasn’t gone _full_ Disney, but they… hang out. They watch. They walk over and bump up against Dean and Castiel seemingly for kicks. Dean keeps expecting them to flip out and run away, or maybe bite him, but they don’t. They’re calm, and when they do leave it’s with an easy, relaxed gait. They need to bottle whatever it is Castiel has and sell it to veterinarians and zookeepers.

Once in a while Dean will see Castiel and one of the animals in some sort of staring match, and he just _knows_ they’re having some sort of silent conversation.

Real. Fucking. Weird.

The ghost is malignant, though not particularly scary. He’s strong enough to move things, though, which Dean discovers as he’s being thrown through the already mostly broken front window.

This is one of those moments when Dean wonders if he’ll still be hunting when he’s his father’s age.

He gets to his feet and looks through the window frame just in time to see Castiel swing Sam’s old cast-iron pan through the visage of a very angry looking old man.

They gather the remains, which are in a heap on an old, ruined couch, and bring them to the pyre, including the cushions. Dean told Castiel the rot from the man’s remains might leave him tethered to the cushions and Castiel got this hilariously disgusted look on his face, like he hasn’t probably seen far, far worse in his life. They get the remains on the pyre, and Dean nearly jumps out of his fucking skin when the ghost appears a foot away, screaming in Russian and knocking him on his ass again as Castiel lights the pyre. The ghost turns and rushes toward Castiel, but burns away before he can make contact.

Easy as pie, aside from the bruises Dean can already feel on his body. “Sure, beat on the _human,_ ” he grumbles as Castiel pulls him to his feet.

“He said you remind him of his idiot son back in Russia.”

“Yeah, well fuck you too, pal,” Dean says to the burning remains.

“You must know he can’t hear—”

“Shut up, Cas.”

  
  


*

  
  


It’s hard to be sure _how_ the old man found this place or even how he died, but there are plenty of signs that he’d been squatting in the house for some time prior to his death and subsequent time as a ghost. Beer bottles, food packaging, filthy clothes, a few suspect syringes, a bedroll, an old, ripped tent left in a heap on the porch. No wallet or ID in sight. Whatever this guy’s story was, it wasn’t a very happy one. As a hunter, Dean’s pretty used to messy corpses and never quite getting the full story, but still, it’s sad. Hopefully no one is or was waiting for this angry Russian hiker with no name.

They burn what they can, the rest goes into trash bags to be dealt with later.

There’s a lot of work to do in this place. Dust and dead bugs on every possible surface, old furniture that’s too rotted to salvage, broken glass, termite damage, old cigarette butts the Russian seemed to leave in every nook and cranny.

“It has good bones, at least,” Dean says, surveying the living room with a despondent Castiel.

“I really liked that couch. Found it on a street corner in some suburbs near Portland… I flew it all the way here.”

Dean’s never actually seen Castiel fly yet, but he can imagine that looked fucking ridiculous. He’ll probably see him fly sometime soon, there’s no other way to get new furniture up here.

Jesus, this is going to be so much work. It’s going to be worth it.

  
  


*

  
  


It’s nearly three weeks before Castiel gets what he needs to make the water and electricity function. After four long, patient explanations from Castiel about how it works, Dean gave up trying to understand the specifics. There’s definitely spellwork involved, but also plain old science and construction. Sam’s going to lose his mind when they eventually have the family up to visit.

The final ingredient is a “battery”, as Castiel calls it but really it’s a mason jar with angelic grace inside.

_That_ had been upsetting. Castiel had produced a blade Dean had never seen before; silvery looking, ridiculously shiny, then made a cut on his own fucking neck, so that grace could flow from Castiel into the jar. It felt wrong, seeing that beautiful light leech out of him like that. Castiel had assured Dean that it was a mere fraction of his grace, and that it would recharge over time, but… still distressing. It reminded Dean of what it felt like to see Sam with a bleeding head wound back when he still hunted.

Dean had expected Castiel to hook the jar up to wires, pipes… _something_ technical, but all he did was bury it a few feet underground behind the house, and _bam._ Electricity. Running water. A ridiculously long, hot shower within an hour.

They’re still sleeping in the tent, because the house isn’t _close_ to clean and still smells like old death, but at least Dean can bathe without splashing himself with ice-cold stream water.

There’s no reception out here, no tv or internet, no cell signal. If Dean wants to make a call or check his messages, he has to go all the way back to the highway, which takes nearly two hours. It stresses him out, not being able to check on Sam and the girls, but Ash is pretty sure he’ll be able to get hold of a satellite phone for Dean by the end of the month.

Meanwhile, there’s still so much to do. They’ve got the old furniture piled up behind the house to deal with later, they have a decent amount of cleaning supplies, but they’re in serious need of lumber. They need to replace floors, a few load-bearing beams, the porch… and Castiel wants to make their bed himself.

For the bed, Castiel plans to just hack down some trees in the forest, but for the rest they’re going to have to hit a Home Depot or a lumber yard or something. That means walking five miles to where the Impala sits by the highway, cloaked by Enochian magic.

_There’s_ an arrangement Dean doesn’t love. Bringing Baby up to the house just isn’t possible, so instead she’s miles away, unattended and tucked into subspace or an extra dimension or whatever. The cloaking can only be removed by Castiel, but they’re attached at the hip anyway so that part doesn’t matter. But now Dean goes _days_ without seeing his car, and he… well, he misses her a little. 

But even with the downsides, it’s worth it. It’s a strange, imperfect setup they’ve got going so far, but for the most part, it’s pretty awesome.

  
  


*

  
  


“Cas.”

“Cas, stop.”

Castiel’s body halts instantly, and two distraught, beautiful eyes stare down Dean.

“What… what is it? Are you alright?”

Dean lets his head fall back onto the lawn they’ve been cultivating in front of the house. The grass is fresh and vibrant, even though it’s December. Dean breathes in deep, the scents of sweat, grass, and coconut oil filling his head for a moment, distracting him.

“Dean?”

“They’re _watching,_ Cas,” Dean finally says. He moves his right hand away from where it’s clutching Castiel’s left wing so that he can point at the raccoons just a few feet away.

“They’re _raccoons_ _,_ Dean.”

“That doesn’t creep you the fuck out? A bunch of pervert raccoons watching us fuck?”

“Again, they’re raccoons. They’re not passing judgment or having salacious thoughts.” Castiel starts to pull away from where he’s buried inside Dean, but Dean’s legs around his waist stop him.

“Then why are they staring at us?”

“Because they always do.”

Okay, that’s true. Still, fucking out in the open like animals had seemed so much hotter before there were actual animals watching.

Castiel bends down to kiss at Dean’s neck. It’s cold as fuck out, but Dean’s warm all over. “I thought you wanted to shed some inhibitions with this act, beloved.”

“Do they know what we’re doing?”

“They don’t view copulation the way a human does, Dean. To them this is no different than watching us pulling weeds or drinking a beer.”

“I’d still enjoy this more if they weren’t here,” Dean says, sighing as a deer emerges from the forest and starts walking closer, sniffing curiously at a nearby tree. Dean understands that; most of the trees in the forest are dull and dormant for the approaching winter, but the ones surrounding the house are much more alive.

Castiel chuckles, rocking against Dean even though he can’t possibly get any deeper. His wings flex and fan out before curling forward and surrounding them, blocking Dean’s view. 

“Better?”

Dean sighs with exasperation. On the one hand, _no,_ because he knows the damn things are still out there, but on the other… out of sight, out of mind. He pulls Castiel down into a kiss, sighing with relief as Castiel resumes fucking him.

“Yeah, better.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> I've missed these guys.
> 
> There's a tumblr post for this! [[Clicky]](http://violue.tumblr.com/post/180846021993/title-dean-winchester-disney-princess-part-of)


End file.
